


The Sweet Voice and the Gentleness

by MordorIsCalling



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pining, Post-Season/Series 01, Swearing, Too Much Discussion about Geralt's hair, kind of a fix-it???, like really guys little plot but tons of angst and feels, no beta we are feral like Jaskier, poor baby tries his best at parenting but thinks he isn't good enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MordorIsCalling/pseuds/MordorIsCalling
Summary: “Geralt? Why have you cut your hair?”Ah, there it is.Ciri looks at him expectantly. He holds her curious gaze and wonders. She’s asked about “his bard” once before. She believed when he said that they didn’t travel together all the time and sometimes took long breaks. Now, though, he can’t bring himself to make up some lie.“I...I’ll tell you one day. But not today. Not soon.”Ciri simply nods, accepting the answer. Clever girl.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 79
Kudos: 734





	1. They were once for me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first Geraskier fic, I'm both nervous and excited :D 
> 
> This story was inspired by mculadyloki on tumblr: https://mculadyloki.tumblr.com/post/190559576260/okay-so-when-geralts-on-the-road-and-doesnt  
> Basically, the post is about how, on the road, Geralt's hair grows long, so Jaskier starts braiding it. (And Geralt cuts his hair when Jaskier leaves).  
> This fic is my take on the idea. Please note that I only watched the show, haven't read the books or played the games. Pls be gentle.

* * *

Yennefer eludes them.

The word about what happened in Sodden reached them a week after the battle. Geralt assumes Yennefer is hidden off somewhere, healing her wounds. He would appreciate, though, if she weren’t _so damn hard to find_.

Not when he _needs_ her. Because Ciri needs her.

He looks at his child and observes as she brushes Roach’s mane.

They have already made camp, ate dinner and are now waiting for dusk to retire. To kill the short time left until sundown, Geralt oils his weapons while Ciri takes care of Roach. The girl is quiet, as she is most of the time. Geralt wouldn’t mind that at all if the sounds Ciri made most often weren’t her screaming when she had nightmares.

She has nightmares almost every night.

Geralt has no bloody idea how to help her. Hell, he has no idea what to _do_ with a child in the first place. He tries his best to keep her well-fed, warm and safe, but apart from that, what is he to do with her really?

Of course, he’s been teaching her how to survive in the wild and started training her in self-defence and some basic magic. She even wants to know all about monsters for some reason, so he’s told her everything that he knows.

But it all isn’t _enough_.

Ciri has no control over her chaos. Geralt can feel all that sheer power buzzing just beneath the surface, waiting for an occasion to be unleashed upon the world. It’s dangerous for Ciri and everyone around her. She needs someone to teach her how to control it. Someone like a sorceress. Like Yennefer, who maybe could help Ciri with the trauma as well. Yennefer, who is also nowhere to be fucking found. They have been looking for her for three months now, to no avail. She has disappeared after defeating Nilfgaard, leaving no trace after herself.

Geralt could trust the djin’s magic to make them stumble upon each other eventually, but it may as well take a few years. He can’t wait so long, not this time. Time isn’t on his side currently anyway.

The search for Yennefer has to be postponed. They have to head for Kaer Morhen; winter is fast approaching. The nights are growing longer and colder. The leaves on trees have already lost their green colour and turned into the myriad of browns and yellows.

The autumn weather isn’t good for Ciri. They have been camping in woods and didn’t pass through human settlements as much as possible, but they can’t escape it now. Ciri doesn’t take well to crowds and strangers, but she needs a bed to sleep in and a roof over her head more often than not these days. Geralt understands, even though every stay at an inn is risky. The White Wolf with a child in tow is a sight that attracts attention.

It’s better to assume that the bloody Nilfgaardians are still hunting for Ciri, even if most of the army was incinerated by Yennefer. To avoid being recognized, Ciri hides her hair under a cap and wears a boy’s clothing, like she used to do on the streets of Cintra, but still, the two of them together are never inconspicuous.

Geralt can’t blend in with the crowd anyway.

The thought of Kaer Morhen fills him with some warmth. He doesn’t feel so out of place there. Ciri won’t mind somewhere safe to stay for some time, too. The kind of life they now lead isn’t for a child, constantly on the road and always in danger. It should be a Witcher’s life only. Hell, Witchers aren’t at all supposed to have children. Or friends, even.

And yet, here he is. With his child. Without his only friend.

He tries to stop thinking about Jaskier, with little success. He keeps hunting Geralt’s mind and it’s almost as annoying as the bard himself. Gods, Jaskier is apparently set on annoying the hell out of him even when he isn’t present.

His absence is so much worse than having him around, though. Every day, Geralt regrets the words he said to Jaskier on the mountain. 

It was so easy, to lay all the blame on the bard, even though Geralt’s accusations weren’t true. But he was just so _angry_ when Yennefer left him. He couldn’t stand that he had brought that upon himself due to his decisions. So he let it all out, pushing Jaskier away. He wanted Jaskier to leave him _alone_. Everyone left him eventually, anyway. At least Jaskier didn’t leave on his own.

It’s all Geralt’s doing. Again.

Fuck, he really is a monster sometimes.

He clenches his jaw and vows to himself for the thousandth time that he will be better now. He has to try for Ciri. No kid deserves a monster as a father.

Still, he struggles to be a good guardian for her. There are some things he forgets to think about, as a Witcher. Like this evening, for instance, after Ciri falls asleep, Geralt notices her shivering in her bedroll a bit. Geralt didn’t think that she might get cold and she won’t say a word about it. A tough and stubborn thing, this girl is. Which is too bad, since Geralt isn’t able to be considerate enough of her human needs, no matter how hard he tries. With a sigh, he takes his extra blanket and covers the girl with it. A few strands of his hair fall into his eyes when he bends over her.

His hair has grown too long again. He kept it shoulder-length after the dragon hunt but has forgotten about having it trimmed, as he’s had bigger things to worry about.

He could always braid it. But he won’t.

It was Jaskier’s task.

A memory comes, unbidden, of how it happened that Jaskier braided his hair for the first time.

_Jaskier is shaking. He stares at the bloodied dagger in his hands, then at the four bodies on the ground._

_Geralt knows that Jaskier is no saint. It wasn’t his first kill. The bard handed the dagger expertly when he had defended himself from the bandits. Still, Jaskier’s body is coming back to normal after the adrenaline rush, so he is trembling slightly._

_“C’mon.” Geralt claps his arm on Jaskier’s shoulder and steers the man a short distance away from the bodies. “Let’s see if those bastards had something useful on them and get away from here.”_

_Jaskier nods silently and leans into him. Geralt doesn’t shrug him off; whatever human part that’s left in him makes him embrace Jaskier to offer some comfort._

_It seems to be working. Jaskier’s breathing and heartbeat are slowing down. All the tension leaves his body as exhales slowly and lays his head in the crook of Geralt’s neck, a few strands of white hair falling on the bard’s face. “Your hair has grown quite long,” Jaskier murmurs._

_Geralt hums in reply. In truth, he has forgotten about having his hair cut for some time now._

_“I could braid it for you,” Jaskier says quietly as he toys with a small strand of Geralt’s hair between his fingers._

_Without much thought, Geralt grunts, “Fine.” Because, really, Jaskier would bug and pester him about it until he got what he wanted._

That _makes Jaskier return to his usual loud and bright self. He steps away from the Witcher’s arms with a smile. “Splendid!” he exclaims, “let’s leave here quickly, I can’t wait to make you look dashing!”_

_Geralt huffs and rolls his eyes._

_Later, when they make camp and sit by the fire, Jaskier braids his hair into two plaits on both sides of his head that join into one at the back. When he is done, he says, “Geralt, but you really do look good! I’m tempted to write a song about this.”_

_Geralt glares._

_“All right, maybe I won’t. Still, you must allow me to braid your hair more often!”_

Geralt did allow that, and each time it happened, he enjoyed it more and more. The feel of those delicate fingers running through his hair and scratching his scalp gently in all the right places. The sound of that damned melodious voice, perfect at every pitch, humming some slow melody. It was _divine_.

He would have Jaskier do this or not have his hair braided at all.

So he won’t braid it. He will cut it instead. Now.

This isn’t a good idea. He shouldn’t do it by himself, in the dark, with no mirror. Still, he does have scissors with him. So he takes them, garbs a handful of his hair and cuts. And cuts again. Again and again. He loses himself.

With every handful of white hair that falls on the ground, he feels a new twist of self-hatred. With every cut, he misses how reverently Jaskier treated his hair. How well he treated Geralt, _always._ Geralt never deserved him. He doesn’t deserve to have all those good memories. So he cuts his hair _short_ , so short that he won’t have to touch it or think about it.

So that he won’t think about the sweet voice and the gentleness that was for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how short I imagine Geralt cuts is hair: https://i.redd.it/hvwjmlljo6xy.jpg (apparently, some people hate that haircut???) 
> 
> Anyway, what do you think so far? Is this ok? 
> 
> (Next chapter next week. I'm sorry, I can't write faster than that).


	2. Yet, things change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt of Rivia considers himself to be among those best entitled to claim that Destiny is a bitch. But this, now. This is so _not fucking funny_.

In the morning, when Ciri wakes up, she gasps when she sees Geralt and stares at him for some time, her eyes wide. Geralt can bet he looks horrendous. Which is good. It’s how he feels.

He doesn’t want to talk about it, though. He doesn’t want to think about it. So he gets up from where he has been sitting the whole night, meditating and keeping watch, and tells Ciri, “We’re moving soon.”

The question still lingers right on the tip of her tongue, it’s clear to see, but she just nods and gets up, immediately starting to pack her things. Geralt knows that she will ask him about it when she feels like it.

Ever since he held her in his arms for the first time, he’s had this sense of something clicking in place. All is so _right_ when Ciri is near. He still recalls the sheer relief that flooded him when she ran up to him in the woods. It was almost as if they knew each other since the day of her birth and now were only reunited after a long time apart. And so, somehow, he’s known her to some extent since the beginning, and they got to know each other better during the few months of travelling together.

The time they spend together has been especially helpful for Geralt when it comes to understanding Ciri's human needs. Although he still struggles, and Ciri won't ever say a word, _won't ever ask_ , at this point he's aware that the girl is especially hungry in the mornings, so he gives her breakfast before they set out. It isn’t much; just some dried meat and fruit. They’ll have to stop by some town to stock up. As she eats, he gets ready, gathering all his things.

“What about you?” Ciri asks.

“I’ll be fine,” he answers, not stopping what he’s doing.

“But, Geralt...”

“Ciri, Witchers don’t have to—”

“No.” When he looks up from his travel bag, he sees the girl standing before him, almost shoving a piece of dried meat into his face. “You must eat,” Ciri says in a voice that bears no argument.

Geralt sigh heavily, praying for patience in his mind. It really, _really_ , should be her who should eat. Sill, there is no point in trying to say no to a princess. He takes the food begrudgingly, bowing his head in thanks. He doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. He’ll never get used to receiving kindness. He doesn’t want it.

Yet, the small satisfied smile that appears on Ciri’s face when he starts eating is worth it.

Soon after that, they set out. They travel in silence, mostly, and make a good time. Geralt intends to reach the nearest town as soon as possible, since they need supplies. Still, they do take a break or two during the day. When they stop in the afternoon, Ciri approaches him with this specific expression of a child who is about to ask some question.

“Geralt? Why have you cut your hair?”

Ah, there it is.

Ciri looks at him expectantly. He holds her curious gaze and wonders. She’s asked about “his bard” once before. She believed when he said that they didn’t travel together all the time and sometimes took long breaks. Now, though, he can’t bring himself to make up some lie. 

“I’ll tell you one day. But not today. Not soon.”

Ciri simply nods, accepting the answer. Clever girl.

It’s better not to talk about it. Not to _think_ about it.

They continue on. In three blissfully uneventful days, they reach a town, just in time to buy the things they need at the market. Geralt’s purse is way too light after their shopping is finished. He will need to take a contract soon. He’s been trying to avoid that as well; every hunt bears the possibility of him not returning, and that would mean leaving Ciri all on her own. 

It would be so much easier with Yennefer, or anyone else whom he can trust. Not that there are many such people. Probably one more person. The person he will _not_ think about.

It’s better not to think about him.

They go to the town’s inn. The innkeeper almost refuses to house them, but Ciri directs her pleading eyes at the woman, asking if she really denies a poor hungry orphan a place to sleep, and well, this trick works every time. They get a room, Geralt orders a bath for “the boy”, and after Ciri washes, she eats an early supper. Evening is drawing near and the inn is filling with people (but there’s no bard in sight, thank the Gods), but Ciri doesn’t even seem to notice the growing crowd that would normally put her slightly on edge. The girl is so tired that she almost falls asleep with her head in her bowl. Geralt has to stifle a chuckle at the sight of her bravely trying to fight off the weariness that overtakes her.

“C’mon,” he says, “let’s go upstairs, you need to sleep.”

“Why can’t I go by myself?” Ciri replies, “you should stay and eat.”

Geralt sighs, his patience already running short. This child will definitely help him with extending the limits of it. He wills the annoyance away and answers in a low voice, “I want to lock the door with a spell.”

This seems agreeable enough to her and to their room they go. After Ciri lays down in her bed, her characteristic hair finally free from the cap, she directs a fierce look at him. “But promise me you’ll eat.”

This time, Geralt chuckles. “All right, princess, I promise.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I’ll know if you lie.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

It takes her some time to fall asleep. When her breathing and heartbeat finally slow down, Geralt leaves her, albeit reluctantly. After making sure the door is locked with strong enough magic, he goes downstairs and _hears_.

Geralt of Rivia considers himself to be among those best entitled to claim that Destiny is a bitch. But this, now. This is so _not fucking funny_.

 _That voice_.

It’s in the inn, filling it with its sweetness. That voice is, as always, perfectly in tune, no matter if pitched high or low. As always, that voice draws Geralt in, almost enchants him with its melodiousness. Sometimes he thinks a voice like this cannot be fully human.

The owner of this voice, however, is human, from what Geralt knows. And he’s _here_.

He wasn’t here _a_ _fucking_ _hour ago._

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geralt growls under his breath and moves to retreat back to the room, but it’s too late now. Jaskier has just finished singing a song and now enjoys the applause, his gaze sweeping over his audience.

Their eyes meet.

Jaskier freezes in shock, his eyes wide and glued to Geralt’s face. His smile falters and something in Geralt’s chest tightens. He can bet he looks like Jaskier’s worst nightmare. Especially with the hair.

He is about to look away, he tries to, but it is then that Jaskier regains his composure. He straightens and says loudly, “Ladies and gentlemen, Geralt of Rivia has joined us!” He looks straight at the Witcher, which draws all the patrons’ attention to Geralt, who now murmur among themselves.

Jaskier wouldn’t be a bard famous all over the northern kingdoms if he didn’t know exactly what to do now. “This occasion calls for a song!” he proclaims and strums his lute, the first notes of _Toss A Coin_ filling the room. As he begins to sing the well-known verses, the patrons erupt in excited cheers and start singing along. In the middle of all this commotion, Geralt decides to order himself food and ale and sits down at an unoccupied table. If a chance meeting as _fucking stupid_ as this brought them together again, he may as well stay. He may not get another chance.

When he eats and drinks, he watches Jaskier perform more songs about their exploits. It’s almost like the old times. Almost. Some things have changed, after all. The things that have changed for worse, he won’t think about.

One of the things that have changed for the better is that Jaskier is a master entertainer now, no longer struggling to get the crowd’s attention like at the beginning of their adventures. His charisma has only been strengthened by years of experience, and his smile and the happiness he radiates are contagious. At least to most, they should be. Some would find this demeanour annoying, Geralt supposes. Like he used to.

He pretends it is still so. Yet, in truth, he drinks in the sight of Jaskier moving between the tables, his graceful movements perfectly in time with the song he performs. It’s satisfying to watch how well the bard connects with his patrons, giving them joy through his music and getting it right back from them in the form of their cheering and clapping.

Geralt convinces himself that he isn’t disappointed when Jaskier’s gaze slides over him without lingering on him even for a second. He sure isn’t bothered by the fact that the bard doesn’t stop by his table at all. Truly, it only begins to sting when Jaskier finishes performing and still doesn’t acknowledge him.

Maybe Jaskier wants to avoid him, and it’s understandable, but Geralt still owes Jakier an apology. The bard may not even accept it, but he has to _know._ He has to know that Geralt understands his mistake. The Witcher takes one last swing of ale and approaches Jaskier, who is sitting at his table by himself and eating. The bard looks up at him briefly, then directs his gaze back down at his plate. Geralt hears Jaskier's heartbeat quicken, although Geralt can tell it’s not because of fear.

“Hello, Geralt,” Jaskier says, in a way perfectly polite. Perfectly _distant_. “How have you been?” he questions, still not sparing the Witcher a glance.

Geralt sits down opposite Jaskier and takes some time to look at him, noticing no change on his face. In truth, he has barely aged ever since they met more than two decades ago. Maybe he really does have some elvish blood in him.

“I found my child surprise,” Geralt says quietly and _that_ finally has the bard looking up at him. “Or rather, she found me.”

“Oh, that’s such a relief,” Jaskier breathes out, “I wondered what became of her after Cintra fell. Good to know she’s safe.”

Geralt inclines his head and says nothing. Jaskier’s gaze now lingers on Geralt’s face, on his hair. Jaskier is wondering, clearly, but he doesn’t actually ask, so they sit in tense silence. Finally, he speaks up, “Well, the search for muse waits for no one. I’d better be going.”

The bard is already in the middle of standing up. Geralt stops him as he growls, “Jaskier, I have to talk to you. Sit down.”

Jaskier does so with a displeased frown.

Geralt takes a deep breath. “I... apologize, for what I said on the mountain. You were right, it was unfair. I was unfair to you all long. You... you’ve been the best friend to me that I could ever ask for.”

Jaskier’s face uncharacteristically betrays very little emotion. The bard only shots him a quick, thin smile. He looks away and says, “I _was_ your friend.”

Something in Geralt’s chest tightens with so much force that he becomes short of breath.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall grant you your greatest wish.”

 _If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take_ you _off my hands!_

Before Jaskier manages to walk away, Geralt grabs him by the sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. The Witcher looks up, meeting the bard's gaze. “Julian. Stay.”

Jaskier’s face remains a schooled mask, but this time his eyes reveal so much _anger,_ and sadness, that Geralt is surprised when he hears Jaskier answer in a perfectly levelled voice, “No, Geralt,” he says, “I don’t think I will.”

He jerks his hand away from Geralt’s hold and walks away briskly.

Geralt can’t help it. He punches the table and curses loudly, drawing the attention of everyone around. The reek of fear fills the air immediately.

He can’t allow this. Jaskier can’t walk away from him from the second time. Geralt gets up and goes after him, following the flowery scent of his perfume. He catches up with the bard in one of the alleys just outside the inn.

“Jaskier,” Geralt calls.

The bard stops walking, his shoulders sagging. He turns around and faces Geralt with his hands on his hips. “What do you want? I have places to be.”

Geralt hesitates, seeing just how defensive Jaskier’s whole body language is. Still, he _needs_ to take this chance. After making sure that he hears no heartbeat other than Jaskier’s within an earshot, he says, “Ciri mentioned that you two know each other.”

That one time when Ciri asked about why Jaskier wasn’t with him, she also told Geralt about how her mother was very fond of Jaskier’s music. He was invited to perform at Ciri’s birthday banquettes and dropped by the Cintran court on other occasions, also after Pavetta’s passing. Calanthe even allowed the bard to dance and talk with Ciri a few times.

“Yes?” Jaskier replies with a bemused frown, “Cirilla is delightful, but what does this have to do with anything?”

“You could help her.”

Jaskier scoffs.“What would she need me for?”

“You could be a connection to her earlier, better life.” The bard just stares at him, unblinking, so Geralt goes on, anger born of desperation growing in him, “Jaskier, she’s traumatised. She screams in her sleep. There are times when she barely talks and is scared of—”

“You?” Jaskier quips.

“No, of _everyone else_ ,” Geralt growls, “she can’t go on like this and I have no _fucking_ idea what to do!”

Jaskier says nothing to that, only looking at him with something akin to pity. At least he doesn’t seem so angry now, so unwilling to be near Geralt. His body has relaxed slightly and his heart beats at a normal pace.

“You could stay for Ciri,” Geralt presses on, “you could travel with us, even if only to the next town.” Again, Jaskier gives no answer. “She’s with me here. I could... take you to her. We could see how she likes the idea.”

Finally, _finally_ , Jaskier sighs and hangs his head in defeat. He brushes his hand through his hair and says, “I guess we can try.” He then directs a stern look at Geralt and adds, “But this sorts nothing between us.”

Geralt inclines his head in agreement. “Follow me, then?”

Jaskier purses his lips but nods. The relief Geralt experiences at that moment almost makes him do something foolish, like hug the bard right there and then. Instead, he just turns around and heads back to the inn, smiling slightly when he hears Jaskier’s footsteps behind him.

Before they enter, Geralt stops and turns to Jaskier. “One more thing,” he says in a murmur, “she passes as a boy in public. His name is Filen. He’s an orphan because of the basilisk that I slew too late to save his parents. He travels with me until I can find someone willing to take him in. Stick to this story and don’t let your tongue slip.”

“Oh, I would love Filen to be my apprentice,” Jaskier replies.

Geralt huffs a startled laugh. “I’m sure he’ll be honoured.”

Jaskier chuckles. “As he should be! Not every day you get the chance to be taught by the finest bard on the Continent! Why, I would say that many young people would—”

“Jaskier.”

“Ah, right.”

Ciri wakes up when the two of them enter their room, but she doesn’t move to get up. “You back, Geralt?” she mumbles sleepily.

“Yes,” he answers and lits up all the candles in the room quickly. He then kneels next to her bed and shakes her slightly. “Sorry to wake you, princess, but we have a surprise guest.”

“What?” She blinks blearily and sits up, yawning. Her gaze lands on the bard, who stands by the door and grins. After a few seconds, recognitions flashes over her face. “Jaskier!” she exclaims. 

“Your Highness.” Jaskier bows with a flourish. “Or should I say, Filen?”

Ciri’s smile is brighter than the Sun could ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can have Geralt using Jaskier's birth name _once_. As a treat.
> 
> There's suddenly so much to do around the house and in the yard during this quarantine time that I can't remember being this busy in ages. I barely keep up with my online classes xD For this reason, please don't expect the last chapter to appear for a week at least, I'm sorry. (Around a half of this chapter was written down beforehand. The next chapter is Not Ready at all. So yeah). Thanks for bearing with me and please consider sharing your thoughts about this chapter! <3


	3. They can be mine no longer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Jaskier doesn’t sing for him now, barely even acknowledges him at all, he’s still _there_. Making his girl laugh, no less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! :D This was supposed to be the first half of the last chapter, but I decided that it makes sense for it to be a whole separate chapter in itself. So yeah.
> 
> Btw, thank you all so much for your comments, bookmarks and kudos. They really keep me going. <3

Before they leave for the next town, Geralt can take a contract at last. In the morning, he asks around and finally, the mayor employs him. There’s a wyvern nesting on his hunting grounds, which are a few hours of ride away. Not the easiest job, but the promised pay is good enough to convince him. When he’s about to depart, Ciri embraces him tightly and refuses to let go for a few good minutes. Geralt can’t find it in him to tell her to let go, so they stay this way. A strange, pleasant warmth blooms in his chest as they hug. He never wanted someone needing him, but now he begins to understand that although he has this girl dependent on him, it also means that he’s gained a surprise child who will run up to him, smiling and without fear, when he returns.

What a surprise indeed, that a monster such as himself can have something as precious as that.

“Don’t worry, cub,” he murmurs, “I’ll be back in two days time at most.”

She looks up at him with pleading eyes. “Promise?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Promise, princess.”

“Filen,” the melody of Jaskier’s voice comes from the stable’s entrance, “Geralt really needs to go.”

Ciri huffs but releases the Witcher and skips up to Jaskier’s side. Geralt follows the girl with his gaze and sees Jaskier grin when Ciri approaches him. The bard’s whole body is lit up from behind by the midday sunshine, and the sight of him like this, cast in the light and smiling at Geralt’s child, makes the Witcher’s heart clench. When Jaskier looks up from Ciri, their gazes meet. Geralt nods and Jaskier inclines his head, the smile gone and the look in his blue eyes hardening.

For many years, Jaskier used to be the one always happy to see him, always smiling at him without fear, and now. Well, now. The set of his shoulders is tense, not that Geralt can blame him. He has the Lion Cub of Cintra herself under his care. A lot can happen when Geralt is gone.

He hated to ask this of Jaskier yesterday night when the bard came to their room. Still, Geralt was in dire need of coin and Jaskier must’ve noticed some of his desperation, since he agreed to look after Ciri without much coaxing. He even joked about giving Ciri music lessons, to which the girl responded with great enthusiasm, and it turned into their actual plan of spending time during Geralt's absence.

And so, Jaskier now says, “We must leave your Witcher now, musical training can’t wait, my boy.” He lays a hand on Ciri’s shoulder. “Let’s head back.”

“Good luck!” Ciri calls, waving at Geralt.

“Don’t cause too much trouble,” the Witcher tells her, “ _Filen_.”

She smirks mischievously and Jaskier takes her away.

When the two disappear, the surroundings get way too silent. Geralt sighs, takes Roach by the reins and off they go.

Finding the nest does take some time and Geralt is ready to begin the hunt only after dusk. The enhancing potion makes him feel high and he’s _thrilled_ to start the fight. He begins to lure the creature out and it shows itself quickly, turning out to be a male rather big for its kind. It must’ve feasted on the mayor’s deer often.

The beast is vicious and also fucking _stupid_. It tries to kill Roach. Geralt is _pissed_. He begins to attack the reptile more aggressively, but the wyvern doesn’t back down and almost manages to pierce him with its venomous stinger at one point.

The fight is long and he’s exhausted at the end. Yet, he does kill the bloody overgrown lizard and it gives him so much _satisfaction_. He _enjoys_ bringing death to monsters. He’s just as bad as them.

When the enhancing potion wears off and he comes back to normal, he finds that his clothing is heavily stained with the wyvern's blood and he’s injured here and there, but it’s nothing severe. Roach is unharmed, if a bit spooked.

He decides to stay there for the rest of the night. When the next day comes, he still needs some rest, so he sets out only around midday. Before he goes back to Ciri and Jaskier, tough, he collects his payment from the mayor, showing the wyvern's head to the man. He pays the Witcher honestly, to Geralt’s relief.

After he secures Roach in the stable (and gives her an apple as an apology), he enters the inn. The people inside go quiet at the sight of him and watch warily as he goes towards the stairs. In the silence, Geralt can clearly hear Ciri exclaim his name upstairs and burst through the door of their room.

Destiny has had them linked so strongly that they can sense each other’s presence from a short distance. Ciri must’ve felt him.

A smile tugs at his lips as he hears her run towards the stairs. Jaskier shouts “where are you going?!” and rushes after her. Geralt is almost at the foot of the stairs when he sees Ciri at the top, a happy grin on her face. He opens his arms and the girl rushes down into his embrace, paying no mind to the state of his clothing. Paying no mind to the fact that those same arms, that same man, killed recently. Not knowing that he enjoyed it.

Such a treasure, his girl is.

Geralt hears Jaskier stop at the top of the stairs. He looks at the bard, standing there with his hands on his hips.

“A bath,” Jaskier says, “now.”

He actually appeared pleased to see Geralt, though. More like relieved, truth be told, but still. 

***

They finally leave the town the next morning, Ciri sat on Roach while Jaskier and Geralt walk on both her sides. Ciri and Jaskier are grumpy and sleepy because of being woken up early, which makes them stay blissfully quiet. They have a three-day journey ahead to reach the nearest town, so Geralt enjoys the silence as long as it lasts.

Obviously, it doesn’t last long.

Rather soon, Jaskier takes out his lute and starts playing, making up some silly songs about what they pass on the road, much to Ciri’s delight. She appears to enjoy his creative abilities immensely and he, as always, loves the attention.

Geralt’s heart feels so much lighter when he sees Ciri so cheerful, and Jaskier’s singing finally soothes the ache of longing for the sound that Geralt felt ever since he sent the bard away. Although Jaskier doesn’t sing for him now, barely even acknowledges him at all, he’s still _there_. Making his girl laugh, no less.

When Jaskier tires of singing and coming up with endless ways to describe rocks and trees, he gives his vocal cords a short break, after which he switches to constant chatter. He tells Ciri various stories and they even exchange some courtly gossip.

At one point, the bard starts talking about something which the Witcher wished to forget for a long time. It's one of those too-good memories which he doesn't deserve.

“Shall I tell you a story of how I braided flowers into Geralt’s hair once?”

Geralt growls under his breath, but there’s no helping it now. Ciri seems absolutely _thrilled_.

“You’re lying!” she exclaims, “there’s no way he let you do that!”

Letting Jaskier do that would be a vast overstatement. Jaskier allowed himself and Geralt was too tired that day to really bother to stop him.

“Oh, but he did!” Jaskier boasts, spreading his arms wide, “I, Jaskier the bard, braided dandelions and forget-me-nots into the White Wolf’s hair! At first, he glowered and growled like he wanted to bite my hands off but in the end, he allowed me to finish. And let me tell you, he looked absolutely _adorable_!”

Ciri bursts into a violent fit of giggles that has her almost falling off Roach’s saddle and Geralt finds he can’t be truly annoyed. In truth, deep down, the memory is dear to him. He recalls the townsfolk’s reaction when he showed up that day, exhausted after a hunt, with his long hair full of flowers. There was so little smell of fear floating in the air. Everyone just shot him baffled, curious glances. Children even laughed and called after him, “ _Fairy Witcher! Fairy Witcher!”._ Jaskier walked at his side, so bloody proud of himself. He kept beaming at everyone. Especially at Geralt.

“I wish I could see Geralt like that for myself!” Ciri says when she calms down, “but I won’t.” She pouts. “He cut his hair short and he won’t even tell me why!”

“Ah, well,” Jaskier’s voice is strained, “Geralt surely had his reasons.” He clears his throat and adds hastily, “maybe you won’t see Geralt with flowers in his hair, but I think I could perhaps braid flowers into _your_ hair. What do you think?”

She lets out an excited gasp. “Yes! Please, I—”

“Not here,” Geralt grunts.

“Why?” Ciri whines.

“We may as well be observed at this very moment.” No matter that they’re practically in the wilderness. Filen can’t ever be discovered to be a girl with ashen-blond hair. Ciri being a boy is a poor cover as it is. “I will take no chances. You can’t let your hair down here.”

She pouts and sulks in silence for a few good minutes, seizing Geralt with angry side-looks that he gets tired of very quickly. He lets go of Roach’s reins and walks a few steps ahead, knowing that the mare will follow him anyway.

From behind him, the Witcher hears Jaskier mutter, “he didn’t say that you can’t do that at all, though.”

Ciri giggles and Geralt is helpless against the smile that stretches his lips.

Her laughs are in sharp contrast with her screams that wake them up in the night.

She tosses in her bedroll and _screams_ , louder and louder. It’s _bad_. Jaskier and Geralt try to shake her awake, tell her that she’s safe, to no avail. The Witcher can sense her chaos humming. Her power really wants to emerge.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he growls, “she must stop screaming or she may kill us.”

Jaskier looks at him with wide eyes. “Holy fucking _shit_ ,” he hisses, “can’t you just use your magic to calm her down?”

“Her own magic is too strong,” Geralt answers, “I can’t get through it to reach her.” 

Jaskier laughs mirthlessly but the sound is drowned out by another of Ciri’s screams. “Shh, shh,” the bard soothes. “Wait! I have an idea!” He lies down at the girl’s side and tells him, “pin her down.” Geralt frowns in confusion and Jaskier raises his voice, “just fucking do it!”. When the Witcher complies, the bard covers one of Ciri’s ears with one hand and starts singing right into her other ear. He keeps his voice loud but steady, his tone calming.

Jaskier sings her a lullaby. And it’s _working_.

To Geralt’s amazement, Ciri’s begins to quieten down. Soon, he doesn’t have to hold her anymore. She’s stopped trashing and her cries grow few and far in between, so Geralt sits back and observes. Jaskier starts lowering his voice slowly, the hand previously covering Ciri’s ear now petting her head. When the lullaby ends, his voice is just a gentle hush, and Ciri’s completely calm. The bard releases a shaky sigh and his tense body goes limp, still on the ground next to Ciri.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jaskier breathes out.

Geralt hums in agreement, watching Jaskier in wonderment he can’t shake himself out of. What the bard just did seemed like very strong magic, yet Geralt felt nothing magical in his signing. Perhaps Jaskier wields some kind of power that Geralt can’t grasp. It seems he will never figure Jaskier out fully.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, but the bard gives no response. “Jaskier, look at me.”

The bard sits up in a rapid movement and directs his gaze at Geralt, his eyes flashing with anger.

“Thank you,” Geralt tells him as earnestly as he can, “thank you so much. For all of this.”

Jaskier hangs his head with a crooked smile, then looks back at him and answers, “None of it was for you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I gave myself so many _F E E L S_ when I wrote this.


	4. They are now for us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you want from me, Geralt?” he asks, anger clear in his voice, “I’ve done everything you asked for! Stayed and travelled with you two, took care of your daughter, helped her come out of her shell a bit. What else do you want from me? Just let me go on my own merry way. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have arrived! Lo and behold, here's my take on what happens when the boys Actually Talk. I really hope you enjoy! :D

“Geralt?”

He looks up from his mug of ale at Ciri, who sits opposite him with an unfinished plate of supper before her. Her face bears _the expression_ again. “What is it, cub?” he asks.

“You cutting your hair,” she says, “it has something to do with Jaskier, doesn’t it?”

He frowns at her, but she speaks up again before he can answer, “You don’t have to tell me now what all of this is about, but... He seems angry at you. I think he doesn’t want to travel with us any longer and... I don’t want him to go. He belongs with us. I can _feel_ it.”

Of course Ciri would feel it. Geralt has no doubt that she is sensitive to magic and links of Destiny other than what binds the two of them, and Jaskier seemed to be an unintentional herald of fate ever since he waltzed into Geralt’s life.

The bard now seemed set on walking out of Geralt’s life, though. Ciri was right; Jaskier gave no indication that he intended to continue travelling with them, he even sat at a different table now.

They reached the town an hour ago, just after sunset. They found an inn and paid for their rooms, then ordered themselves supper. Geralt ate the meal with Ciri, but Jaskier was quickly swept away by two maidens and has kept them company ever since.

Not that Geralt blames him. Their three-day travel wasn’t exactly pleasant for Jaskier, from what the Witcher observed. He tensed whenever Geralt came near him and didn’t acknowledge the Witcher as much as he could. After the night two days ago, when Jaskier said that all he did was for Ciri only, he didn’t speak to Geralt at all, although he did continue to cheer Ciri up. He also sang to her yesterday evening, when they sat by the campfire, and it put her to a fairly restful sleep.

Jaskier’s help really did wonders for Ciri. The thought of letting him go made Geral’t heart twist painfully, but he knew that Jaskier won’t accompany them if he really doesn’t want to. That’s why Geralt will have to try harder to convince him to stay. He did vow to himself to be better for Ciri, after all.

So he waits until she finishes her food and walks her back to their room, ordering her to stay inside. “I’m going to talk to him,” he tells her, “but I can’t promise anything.”

She nods and closes the door.

He goes back downstairs and finds Jaskier still entertaining the two comely women. When they notice Geralt approaching, their heartbeats spike and they start stinking of fear. 

Jaskier, of course, isn’t scared at all. “Ah, ladies,” he says cheerfully, “that’s Geralt of Rivia, my worthy companion!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunts, “I want to talk to you. In private.”

“Can’t it wait?” Jaskier replies, gesturing at his two companions. “I’m rather... _pleasantly_ _occupied_ at the moment.” The words make the maidens giggle.

“No,” the Witcher answers and just stands there, staring at the bard without blinking.

“Oh fine,” Jaskier grumbles. “Forgive me, my ladies, I shall return to you as soon as I can.” He gets up, flashing the two women a charming smile, then turns to Geralt, no traces of warmth left on his expression.

“Your room?” the Witcher says.

Jaskier gives a court nod and to Jaskier’s room they go. As soon as they enter and Jaskier closes the door, he faces the Witcher with his hands on his hips. “What do you want from me, Geralt?” he asks, anger clear in his voice, “I’ve done everything you asked for! Stayed and travelled with you two, took care of your daughter, helped her come out of her shell a bit. What else do you want from me? Just let me go on my own merry way. ”

“I... I can’t do that.”

Jaskier looks almost ready to throttle Geralt as he asks, “Oh, and pray tell, why is that?”

“Because you don’t believe me,” Geralt answers, “You don’t believe me that I’m sorry.”

Jaskier laughs, and it sounds like nothing a laugh should be. “Well, forgive me for not believing you when your apology was what? Three sentences long? What did you think? That I’d happily run to your side like always? Well, so sorry, sir, not this time.”

Geralt opens his mouth to respond but Jaskier rants on, “Not after all that we’ve shared. Not after more than _twenty. Fucking. Years_. Twenty, Geralt!” The bard’s voice keeps getting louder and louder, “This may be a blink of an eye for a Witcher, but it’s more than a half of my bloody life! _A half!_ Two decades throughout which I believed us friends even though you’d never say so. But I could tell that you cared about me, at least a bit, and then, on that fucking mountaintop...” Jaskier pauses, glaring daggers into the Witcher. He huffs and goes on, speaking more quietly now, “Oh _then_ I believed you. I understood that I must’ve been seeing things for what they weren’t all long. That you really didn’t even like me all that much. It... you broke my fucking heart, Geralt.” Jaskier lets out a shaky breath. “I can’t go on as if nothing happened.”

Geralt purses his lips, not knowing what to say. He so wishes he could think of any words that could lessen Jaskier's anger, but something different comes to his mind. “Let me make it up to you,” he says as he takes a step towards the bard. “Come to Kaer Morhen with Ciri and me.”

Jaskier frowns. “Isn’t it like a secret Witcher keep that no outsider is allowed to enter?”

“Fuck that. Vesemir will probably lose his shit when he sees I bring two humans, but I don’t care. _Gods_ , Jaskier, just don’t go.”

Jaskier doesn’t appear convinced at all, which has Geralt growing desperate. He takes another step closer to Jaskier and goes on, “You help Ciri so much, she likes you and I... You’re important to me.” He remembers saying those same words to Yen, but this is different. This is fully _real_ , they share a true bond built on years of companionship. “You’re the only one to stick around when nothing binds you to me. No magic, no obligation, no fucking _Destiny_.”

Another step, and he’s standing very close to Jaskier now, but the bard doesn’t retreat. “My life is so fucking miserable without you,” Geralt confesses, his voice turning hoarse, “I was so _lonely_ until you came along, and when I sent you away... I regret it every single day. Please believe me. Don’t go.”

At last, Jaskier reacts. He exhales slowly, his body relaxes and the corners of his mouth turn upwards in a tiny smile that seems almost _fond_. Geralt looks into those blue eyes and says, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Jaskier answers quietly, not breaking the eye contact. “But you hurt me. You must understand that I can’t forgive this so easily.”

Geralt gives a small nod but doesn’t move away from Jaskier’s close proximity. Instead, he tries his luck and takes Jaskier into a hug, who returns the embrace after a moment, putting his arms around Geralt’s neck. His hands wander into the Witcher’s short hair.  
  
“Your hair...” Jaskier begins.

“It wasn’t the same,” Geralt replies quickly, “without you to braid it, to care for it.” He lets _to care for me_ go unsaid.  
  
Jaskier hums. “Will you grow it out?”

“Yes,” he answers in a low murmur. His mouth is hovering just a hair away from the crook of Jaskiers neck, his breath ghosting over the bard’s skin. Geralt inhales the familiar scent. The flowery perfume mixed with the smell of Jaskier’s warm body is heady and he’s suddenly overtaken by an urge for _more_.

He resits it. Maybe later they will come a time when he will nose and mouth at Jaskier’s neck, licking biting and _claiming_. Not now, though. He doesn’t want to drive Jaskier away with just how much he wants from him, so he wills that urge away and relaxes. He listens to Jaskier’s slow, steady beating of his heart, his quiet breathing and...

“I hear another heartbeat,” Geralt mutters. Jaskier lets out a questioning sound. “On the other side of the door,” the Witcher exlplains, “it’s Ciri.”

Jaskier huffs. “That rascal,” he says and pulls away from the embrace, which has Geralt almost growling at the loss of touch.

Geralt watches as the bard walks to the door in quick strides and opens it swiftly. Ciri had no time to hide, so she just stands there, looking like a cornered prey. “Filen,” Jaskier says with mock sternness, “apart from you musical training we will have to work on your manners! Has anyone ever told you that eavesdropping is _rude_?”

“I-I wasn’t,” Ciri stammers, “I was here to...”

Jaskier puts his hands on his hips and shots her _a look_. She offers him a weak smile and says, “I came to ask if you could... braid my hair! I think I can let my hair down in a closed room, right?”

Jaskier sighs in a long-suffering manner and says, “All right, come in.”

As the girl walks in, she looks between Geralt and Jaskier, but the Witcher sends her a warning glance, so she says nothing.

“Sit on the bed, then,” Jaskier tells her as he takes a hairbrush out of his travel pack. Ciri takes the cap off and does as she is told. The bard sits behind her and begins caring for her hair.

Geralt sits down on a chair next to the bed and watches them, both relaxed and chattering cheerfully. He feels that strange warmth bloom in his chest again and can’t help but smile slightly. The Witcher wouldn’t mind getting used to this sight.

It takes Jaskier some time, but in the end, Ciri’s hair is all braided into a complicated but good-looking hairdo. “There,” Jaskier says as he finishes, “you look like a lady now!”

Ciri feels her hair with her hands and turns to Jaskier with a grin. “Thank you!” she exclaims and promptly throws herself into Jaskier’s arms. The bard returns the embrace, a bemused expression on his face. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles.

After the girl releases Jaskier, she says, “Can I ask you something?”

“You’re already doing that,” Jaskier teases, “but go on.”

“Would you like to travel with us for a bit longer?” Ciri asks, turning her special pleading look at the bard.

Jaskier sighs. “Well...” he begins and pauses. Ciri waits for the answer with bated breath and seems shocked when Jaskier smiles widely. “How about me accompanying you to Kaer Morhen?”

Ciri gasps and jumps off the bed. She begins bouncing up and down, exclaiming “Yes! Yes! Yes!”, which makes Jaskier laugh. The girl hops up to Geralt and throws her arms around his neck. “Thank you!” she whispers.

Geralt chuckles and replies, “Anything.”

Later, there comes the work that Geralt has to put in. It involves praising Jaskier’s singing when praise is due (which is often, Jaskier’s music is exceptional, after all), it’s also caring for Jaskier in all the ways he can think of, like carrying his travel pack or buying him ink and parchment, and many other things. It all becomes easier with time.

With time, Jaskier stops tensing up and falling silent around him. The bard begins to act more at ease, more like himself. With time, Jaskier starts to reward Geralt’s efforts with a genuine smile and a fleeting touch. As they travel on, the bard begins to seek Geralt’s closeness. He starts caring for Geralt’s hair again. Jaskier allows Geralt to lay his head in his lap while he braids Ciri’s hair, the girl sitting at his feet. Sometimes Jaskier’s hands wander from Ciri’s hair and scratch Geralt’s head in all the right places, eliciting a pleased rumble from the Witcher.

With time, during occasions like this, Jaskier’s hands begin caressing Geralt’s face, and Geralt allows himself to place a kiss on those gentle calloused fingers, which makes Jaskier’s breath hitch and his skin smell in a way that is so very tempting. 

With time, Geralt finds himself feeling content like never before. Not all is in the right place, he knows. His pack is not complete, as Yennefer isn’t there. He doesn’t need her as a lover, he discovers with surprise, but Ciri still needs a mother and a teacher. He is sure they will find her, though, or she will find them. In spring, he hopes. 

For now, however, he enjoys having what he still doesn’t feel he deserves (but he works for it, Gods know he tries). His daughter, laughing and teasing him tohether with Jaskier. Jaskier, with his sweet voice and gentleness that are not only for Geralt anymore. They’re both for him and for Ciri.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, loves, and please consider sharing your thoughts about this fic with me! <3


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